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Another version of 'Twas

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    Posted: 11 Dec 2018 at 9:16am
by Bob 'Flapper' Parker

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the sub
Not a swabbie was stirring, not even a nub;
The stockings were hung by the manifold with care,
In hopes that St. Rickover soon would be there;

The non-quals were nestled all snug in their bunks,
While dreams filled their gourds with gals and gedunks;
And the COB in his skivvies and I in my blues,
Had just settled down for a long winter's snooze,
When outside the hull there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my skid to see what was the matter.

Away to Control I stumbled like a dope,
Turned the control ring and raised up the 'scope.
The moon glinted off the iced-over Thames River,
Giving rise to some goose-bumps and a sudden shiver,
What I saw in the eye-piece made me almost go bonkers
T'was a miniature boat and eight tiny ring-knockers,
With a little old driver, not at all grimy,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Hymie.

Faster than torpedoes, his khakis they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, X.O.! now, Engineer! now, Weaps and now Ops!
On, Sonar! on Nav! on, MPA and you Chops!
To the top of the dock! to the top of the pier!
Now dash away! dash away! Get out of here!"
As sea foam that before the wild hurricane flies,
When it meets a wave-front lifts to the skies,
So up to our topsides the khakis they flew,
With a boat full of ORSE guys, and St. Rickover too.
And then, in an instant I heard up on deck
Brown shoes scraping from ORSE board dreck.

As I ran down the 'scope and was thinking "Aw, crud!"
Down bridge access St. Rickover slid, with a thud.
He was dressed all in khaki, from his head to his foot,
And his pants were all creased and ironed, to boot;

A bunched of unknown material filled his valise,
Thoughts of what's coming nearly buckled my knees.

His eyes -- how they glinted! his gaze was not weak!
His cheeks were like granite, his nose was a beak!
His tight-lipped mouth meant there might be trouble,
And his five o'clock shadow appeared as white stubble;

The stump of a pencil was stuck behind one ear,
His visage gave me reason the future to fear;
He had a gaunt face and a thin little waist,
His flesh had no color - like library paste.

He was scrawny and thin, a right nasty old elf,
And I cringed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up bridge access he rose;

He sprang to his boat, to his team gave a scream,
And away they all flew like the remains of a dream.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he dove out of sight, Merry Christmas to all and to all good night!

Those who do not read have no advantage over those who cannot!
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